


take my hand (and lead me home)

by tumsa



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Famous Louis, M/M, Pining, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3826573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumsa/pseuds/tumsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which every time a person falls in love with their soulmate, a red line, like a tally mark, appears on their wrists. When their love is requited, the tally mark turns black, and turns into a scar when the one they love dies. Harry with no tally marks falls for Louis with all of his tally marks scarred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take my hand (and lead me home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ddazed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddazed/gifts).



> This is for [ddazed](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ddazed), who shares my love for angst and soulmate fics. Hope you enjoy! Title is from “Give It Away” by The Fray. Prompt originally comes from a [tumblr post](http://grokwrites.tumblr.com/post/98426252509/tuckedshirts-pretendersrpa).
> 
> Massive thanks goes to [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com/) who read this and helped me power through, I don't think I could have done it without, you, babe! Thanks to [Mirjam](http://burritodropoff.tumblr.com/) who was there from the beginning, [sunsetmog](http://magicalrocketships.tumblr.com/) for words of wisdom and my anons who are amazing cheerleaders. 
> 
> There are mentions of death in this fic (no major character death) and suicidal thoughts (barely mentioned, but still there), please be aware before reading it and feel free to ask questions if you’re worried something might be triggering for you.

**PROLOGUE**

  

**Four dead in tragic Christmas Eve house fire**

Four people reported dead at a serious house fire caused by faulty fireplace in Ellers Cres, Doncaster. A family of four, mother, father and two children (girls aged 10 and 16) died in a ferocious fire at their home. Fire crews arrived at the house shortly after 23:30GTM called by neighbors who saw the smoke and fire coming from the house. Firefighters couldn't reach the victims whose bodies later were found upstairs in the two-story home. Police and fire services are investigating what may have caused the blaze, but early conclusions are a faulty fireplace.

Meanwhile neighbours spoke of their shock at the loss of four lives. Kimberley Lindley, 45, who called the firefighters said the family has been living in the house for about seven years before the tragedy occurred. “It’s tragic,” she said. “They were a nice family, hard working parents and lovely, smart girls, they were friends with my kids, just yesterday afternoon they came by. It’s a horrible loss,” she added.

[24.12.2006., Daily Mail]

 

**Friends and family say goodbye to 17-year-old drowning victim**

Family, friends and classmates gathered at Hall Cross School to say goodbye to 17 years old teenager Oliver White who drowned while swimming with his friends near Horse Shoe Court, Doncaster  in the River Don. White and his friends went swimming after another particularly hot day unaware of cold streams in the river. One of Oliver’s friends, 16-year-old Melissa Barlow, said the group of five went for a swim after temperature on Saturday peaked at 26C. Oliver challenged another boy to swim across the river while the rest stayed close to the shore.

Melissa said: “They were halfway across when Oliver suddenly disappeared under the water, seconds later Louis disappeared too. We were really scared, we called 999 immediately.” Oliver’s friend, 17-year-old Louis Tomlinson, managed to get to a shore and was hospitalized soon after with minor injuries. Police and firefighters scoured the area and found Oliver’s body wading in the river a few hundred meters down the stream. Police Community Support Officer Anne Wood told that the dangers of open water during the hot weather have been emphasised many times and police has visited schools of Doncaster to remind children about dangers of swimming in open waters, especially in unknown places. Sadly Oliver’s death was one of a number across the country during the heatwave over the weekend.

[12.05.2009., Daily Mail]

 

**Louis Tomlinson’s soulmate dies in a car crash**

Peyton Leetch, the girlfriend of singer-songwriter Louis Tomlinson, was killed in a car crash last night in London when her car was cut off by a SUV that hit Peyton’s side of the vehicle, resulting in an instant death, police confirmed this morning. Peyton, who had become the object of intense media attention since photos of her arm having a black soulmate mark surfaced on Twitter, was driving a rented Porsche, possibly trying to evade photographers, said Scotland Yard. “Whether she was trying to escape or not, she was not speeding, the car crash was caused by the other driver losing control of his car,” confirmed spokesman. The driver or SUV, 35-year-old male, died in a north London hospital early this morning. “It is currently unknown if alcohol or drugs were a factor in the collision.”

Devastated Tomlinson was contacted to confirm Peyton Leetch’s identity. He and Leetch were living together in London and became a subject of media attention when it was confirmed that Leetch is Tomlinson’s soulmate. “He is heartbroken,” says a friend, “it’s very hard for him to deal with her death, he asks for a privacy, for time to deal with the incident.”

Tomlinson’s fans all over the world are leaving messages on his Twitter feed, expressing their sympathies and support.

[04.08.2014., Daily Mail]

 

**Louis Tomlinson announcing album after four years long hiatus**

Louis Tomlinson is back! On Friday, September 7, during a red carpet interview on MTV VMAs, singer songwriter announced he’s back and is releasing his fourth album as we speak. It drops today and will be available for download on _iTunes_.

In 2014, after a tragic car crash that took Tomlinson’s girlfriend’s life, his label announced Louis is taking a break from his career. He disappeared from public life completely, and many didn't believe he will ever return. A week ago Zayn Malik, friend of Tomlinson’s and co-owner of their label caused a fan frenzy with tweeting a photo of Louis in a record studio. Rumors about his return spread while Malik refused to comment.

Last night Tomlinson arrived at VMAs ceremony, his first public appearance, and asked about any exciting news plans, he replied “I will give you an exclusive here. It comes out tomorrow.”

[08.08.2018., US Magazine]

 

~*~*~

 

  _@LouisTomlinsonOfficial: We are sad to part with our tour photographer @HarryStyles but we wish him the best of luck with his future endeavors!  
__RETWEETS: 2890 FAVORITES: 4861 3:06 PM - 11 Apr 2019_

 

“I’m sorry, sir, phones are not allowed,” a nurse informs Harry when his phone rings, Nick’s name flashing on the screen. Nick has probably seen the tweet by now, as have all nineteen million followers of Louis’ official twitter account, at least Harry’s _Twitter_ timeline is already flooded with all kinds of responses from Louis’ followers, mostly from upset fans that are shocked that  _#TeamTommo_ is losing a member.

“Sorry, forgot to turn that off,” Harry apologizes, silencing and pocketing the phone. His voice still catches in a throat, a bit raw from all the shouting and crying, and the nurse gives him a sympathetic look as if she knows. Maybe she does. Harry suspects most of the people who come to put on wristbands are a lot like him, a bit broken, rejected and not wanting to do anything with their marks. He grips the chair’s arms reminding himself to not cry _again_. It’s not worth it. He should know better by now. It’s just how it is, Harry always falling for the wrong people, getting hurt, getting over it, starting the whole cycle over again. This is not different than any of those other times.

Except that this time he has a mark on his arm, bright red and painful, like an open cut. Only it’s not bleeding, it’s not healing and fading away like a wound would do, it’s permanently marking his skin, mocking him for all those times in the past when he wanted a mark so badly, when he cried in Caroline’s lap after she was done waiting for him, or begged Nick to give him more time, just a little bit more, just this once, or stayed on Ben’s couch for weeks after Jeff went back to LA, all those times when Harry’s arm stayed woefully bare. And now he finally has a mark and it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because this time nobody wants it. It’s so ironic, so fucking ridiculous, that finally after all those times when he tried and failed, when he disappointed everyone over and over again, after wasted years and years, finally he fell in love with someone who could be his _soulmate_ , finally he got the mark, and it’s all for nothing. Because he loves Louis but Louis doesn't love him. Doesn't want to love him, doesn't want to do anything with Harry anymore.

He doesn't realize there are tears falling until the same nurse hands him a tissue silently. She’s disinfecting his arm with gentle hands and a small frown on her face, and Harry’s thankful she’s not asking any questions. He hasn't really talked with anyone yet and he’s not sure he even can, he feels like a timebomb about to explode on the first person who asks him, how is he doing. He swallows the thick lump in his throat, wipes his tears and draws in a shaky breath, focusing on what the nurse is doing.

The red mark on the inside of his right wrist doesn't actually hurt, at least not physically, it doesn't feel like anything, it’s like a healed tattoo, just there, unnoticeable unless you look at it, and it feels a bit unfair, Harry thinks. It should hurt, everything else hurts. And it seems wrong that there’s no physical pain, there’s no medicine that someone can give him to help when it feels like he's been punched right into heart. The only thing he can do is wrap it up and pretend it’s not there.

When it’s done the nurse explains him how the wristband is like a second skin, how it breathes and absorbs air and water, how he can clean it, remove it, what to do if it hurts or itches, everything Harry already knows, but he focuses on her calm voice anyway, just so he doesn't start crying again. She gives him  few pamphlets and reminds to call or come in if he has questions or issues, and a few minutes later it’s done. There’s nothing on his arms, no marks, and it’s like it never happened except how all he can hear is Louis shouting _well I don’t love you_ , all he can see is Louis’ anger, the small hint of a smirk on his face, pointing out the mark is red, red not black, and all he can feel is pain and regret, like waves in a storm, trying to drown him.

 

**I**

 

Harry undresses slowly, taking too much time to unbutton the coat and unwrap the knitted scarf that’s swallowing him up. He’s sleepy, exhausted from the show and another late night, but he’s too dirty with sweat and he’s fairly sure there's still some of Louis’ come in his hair, so he needs a shower. He hopes the hot water will help with how tense he feels, all achy and wired up from both running around the stage, trying to catch the best moments to photograph, and from having another post-show blowjob in Louis’ dressing room. There is still dust and dirt on his jeans and his knees are bruised, he can feel it as he leans down to take of his brown boots, wincing as his jeans press into his kneecaps.

The hotel room is big, crisp and clean, white walls and darkwood furniture, surfaces too empty since his bags are still unpacked from earlier. They only had a spare hour for a quick nap and then it was time for driving to arena, a sound check and small lunch before the show. So Harry puts his camera bag away and finds a sandalwood candle and a lighter, puts some of his notebooks on a bedside table, starts up the laptop to turn on some music. He likes to think it makes the place a bit more home like, even if he stays only for a night or two.

There’s a few missed messages on his phone, latest one from Nick, something about Pig doing something exciting as most of the messages from Nick are, so Harry replies with a row of random emojis. Nick will understand. There’s also a missed call from his mum and he makes a note to call her first thing tomorrow, the rest is just updates from Liam about their schedule and the flight tomorrow. Harry sighs. Thank god they have a morning off, he’s running on too few hours of sleep and an early flight might actually kill him. Next he goes through his photos quickly, biting on his left thumb, trying to find something from the show to post on _Instagram_ . It accidentally became a thing ever since the first day when he met Louis at the tour crew’s party and took a selfie with him and in a few minutes the photo became his most popular one, thousands of fans liking and commenting it, asking who Harry is. Now Louis’ fans expect Harry to post something every day, and well… he actually gets paid to do that. So he makes sure to always take a few photos with his _iPhone_ in between doing the professional shots because he absolutely refuses to go through the pain of uploading photos from camera to his computer and then sending them to his phone.

Harry stops on a photo where Louis is singing one of his upbeat songs, has danced his way to the edge of the stage and is gazing down, but instead of smiling at fans, he’s looking at Harry, a wide grin on his face and a red cup of water clutched in his hands. A cup of water that a few seconds later landed all over a bodyguard next to Harry (Louis tried to pour a bottle of water on Harry during a show once, Harry had to tell him how if Louis breaks his camera, Harry will break his neck, so from then on Louis went for security guys instead) causing fans to scream with excitement. He looks so different on a stage, loud and full with energy, fearless and bright, always bouncing and running around, waving and winking at fans, anything but the broken hero the newspapers tried to make him before the tour started. Between the shows he’s a lot less loud, all the brightness of the stage washed away, Louis going from one show to another is calmer, softer, more interested in getting a cup of tea and a nap than having parties, changed from his skinny jeans and leather jackets into washed out t-shirts and gray sweatpants tucked into mismatched socks. Louis between shows tells Harry stories from his childhood, talks about his siblings and footie, writes song lyrics on napkins and draws smiley faces on every surface available. Louis on the stage is sharp, all edges and wicked smiles, almost untouchable, but Louis that pulls Harry’s head into his lap, braids his hair with fingers still greasy from _McDonald's_ fries is contented and calm, smiling with his eyes, singing something, always humming or whistling some kind of melody. It’s fascinating to watch him change in front of a crowd. It’s not fake or played up like Harry thought the first time he saw Louis on a stage, it’s just something that the stage and fans bring out of him, he’s the bravest up there, in the middle of bright spotlights and loud cheers.

There’s a dull pain in Harry’s right arm as he posts the photo on _Instagram_ , skipping the filters and silly captions. He thinks he might need to talk with Mark about it, the arm has been bugging him for over a week now. It’s probably from taking all the photos, some kind of repetitive stress injury that photographers have and Harry’s been lucky to avoid so far. Maybe he needs to invest in a  lighter camera or summat. But first - shower.

He finds his toiletry bag and goes to the bathroom. They’re staying at a nice hotel, fancy enough that it has both - a bath and a shower, accompanied by big mirrors and a massive counter with two white sinks laying inside. He finds the shampoo and apple scented body wash in the bag and puts them in a shower, runs the water so it’s nice and warm, and starts to undress. By the time he manages to get out of a sweatshirt that stubbornly clings to his arms, still a bit damp with sweat, the steam of the shower has warmed up the bathroom and covered the big mirror. He’s about to unzip the jeans when something catches his eyes.

He gasps and freezes, hands still holding the front of his jeans. No, Harry thinks, _no_.

“No,” he says first quiet, then louder. It can’t be. It’s surely not. Slowly he lets go of the jeans and unclenches the right arm. He’s probably just seeing things, a reflection of light or something. He turns the right arm to inspect the inside of his wrist, shaking a bit and then a lot, because oh god… it can’t be.

“Oh no, oh shit, _shit_ , oh god,’’ he chokes out, and he has to lean against the counter to not fall down. There’s a mark on his arm, red and unmistakable. He gasps for air, he can’t move, can’t even think anything else besides _fuck_ and _shit_ and _please no_. He closes his eyes, counts to ten, opens them again.

It’s still there.

Nick answers on the sixth ring right when Harry is about to throw his phone against the wall.

“Harry?” he sounds confused and quiet, “are you drunk calling me again? Have we not talked about how time zones exist and you shouldn't call me when I’m sleeping?”

And it says things that Harry can’t even manage to feel bad for waking up Nick, he’s pretty sure he can’t feel anything right now, sitting on the bed, shaking all over.

“I fucked up,” Harry’s voice cracks on the first syllable, but at least he’s not crying. Not yet. “Fuck, Grimmy, I fucked up.”

“Wha-?” Nick murmurs, still sleepy and there’s a noise, him getting up probably. “No, Pig, come on, off the bed. Wait, Haz, sorry, what happened? Are you at a bar or something?”

“No,” Harry whispers, clutching the phone, “no, I’m at a hotel, I’m not drunk. Fuck, jesus, Nick, I have… I have...” he doesn't know how to tell it, god, why is Nick so far away, why this has to happen when they are in Oslo of all places, thousands of miles away from London, he really needs a hug right now. And a drink.

“You have what?” Nick asks, fully awake now. “Stop scaring me, Haz, what happened? Where are you?”

“I need a drink,” Harry mumbles. He manages to get to the mini bar without falling even though his legs feel like jelly,he  finds a small bottle of Bacardi and opens it. Nick is patiently waiting, thankfully not hanging up. Harry takes a gulp of rum, it burns his mouth and doesn't give him any courage, but he needs to tell it to someone.

“I have a red mark,” he finally says and takes another mouthful. Shit, shit, shit.

“A red mark,” Nick repeats. “On your hand?”

“Where else would it be, Grimmy, where else,” Harry laughs shakily, “ironic, isn't it, I finally got it, cheers to me!”

He drinks more, swallows the need to puke.

“But you said it’s casual. Fuck, Haz, you told me two days ago that you and Tomlinson are just fucking, you told me you’re not exclusive or anything,” Nick talks slowly, repeating everything Harry had said to him as if Harry suddenly doesn't remember it. He does. Of course he does. Harry doesn't say anything, so there’s a silent pause and Nick continues. “Harry, you told me he doesn't do the whole _love thing_ , you told me you both are hooking up and it’s not a big deal.”

“You know me, I always fuck it up,” Harry says jokingly, but his voice trembles and comes out broken instead.

“Jesus,” Nick sighs, “I can’t… I… Are you okay? Is there anything you need me to do?”

“I’m fine, I’m fantastic,” Harry says. He puts the rum bottle down and crawls into bed, lays down on his back and stares at the ceiling.  He hasn’t looked at his arm once. He can’t. “I just need to find the nearest cliff and jump off or summat.”

“Is it that bad?” Nick asks, voice soft. He’s not scolding Harry or asking for explanations thankfully, he sounds more worried than disappointed. Nick has his flaws and all, but he can be a great friend, Harry thinks. They've always been better as being friends than anything more.

“I don’t know,” Harry murmurs. “I just…  God, Grim, I didn't even realize I’m in love? I mean, I really like him, he’s funny and witty, and the whole sex thing is great, and sure, he’s beautiful and all, but I didn't… Fuck, I really like him, Nick, I think I _really_ like him.”

He doesn't cry because Nick panics when people cry on him, it’s like one of his worst fears and Harry’s been a bad enough friend already, calling Nick when it’s midnight in London already, so he doesn't cry but his eyes are wet and there’s a lump growing in his throat, choking him a bit. He never thought his first mark will make him so upset.

“Well, why don’t you tell him that?”

“I can’t, we’re not together, he’s not in love with me.” Harry’s sure since the mark is, you know, red not black.

“Well, two days ago you said the same. Maybe he’s falling for you too,” Nick says and yawns.

Harry thinks about the soundcheck earlier, Louis throwing paper airplanes at him while the band checked their instruments, twisting and turning around his mic to avoid Harry’s camera lense later when it was his turn to warm up the voice. Louis had smiled, eyes crinkly and soft seconds later, letting Harry take all the photos he wants just to stop him from pouting. Maybe, he thinks, maybe Nick is right. Maybe it could work.

“Okay, I’ll talk with him,” Harry promises, “go to sleep. And sorry I woke you.”

“It’s fine, love is a state of grace and all.”

“Are you quoting Britney on me? Seriously? Goodnight, Grim.”

Nick laughs. “You’re the one who knew it’s Britney. Call me tomorrow, tell me how it goes.”

Harry hangs up and just breathes for a while. He’s scared and still shaking from initial panic and shock, but it feels less like a tragedy now that Nick has made a point. He takes a deep breath and calls Louis, hoping he’s not asleep yet.

It’s Stan who picks up, there’s an unmistakable noise of a club blaring through Harry’s speaker. He’d forgotten Louis’ friends flew in to hang out with him, apparently they’ve decided to stay out late.

 

“Hi, Harry,” Stan sounds tipsy, he’s talking slow, but loud enough for Harry to hear him over the music. “Louis left the phone, soz.”

“Left?” Harry asks. Maybe Louis is coming back to the hotel and Harry can still catch him before he falls asleep. He gets up and out of the bed, trying to remember where his socks or shoes are. There’s too much noise coming from the phone and Stan is talking with someone else, laughing. Harry’s back in bathroom, where water in the shower is still running, and he turns it off, feeling a bit of guilt settling in his stomach.  His mum always taught him not to waste water.

“Yeah, left,” Stan continues suddenly, like he didn’t took good two minutes to reply. “Went away with some chick, if you know what I mean.”

Oh. _Oh._

Harry hangs up without thinking, phone falling out of his sweaty palm, hitting the floor tiles with a loud noise. He doesn’t fight the nauseous feeling, slumping over a sink. He pukes until he can’t feel anything but the burn in his throat.

 

~*~*~

 

Louis has two cardboard cups of tea in his hands when he sits down, next to Harry. He hands one of the cups to Harry, yawning loudly. They’re on a plane, about to take off to god knows where, and Louis is the last one to arrive. To his credit there was a massive crowd of fans surrounding the airport, but Harry still can’t help but feel a bit annoyed. Louis looks like he woke up ten minutes ago, probably slept until late afternoon after the “wild night out”.

Harry doesn't say anything though, just sips on his tea. It’s rooibos with cinnamon and a dash of milk, his favourite. He hadn’t noticed Louis knowing this before. Not that it matters, it’s just a tea anyway.

“Hey,” Louis smiles at him, and just like that all the anger sweeps out of Harry. He can’t stay upset with Louis, he has zero willpower when it comes to that soft, sleepy smile and bright blue eyes. He looks up and smiles back at Louis, murmuring a quiet hello.

“You look a bit poorly,” Louis frowns. “And you’re wearing two sweaters. Are you getting sick?”

Harry shakes his head. “Just didn’t sleep well, therefore a bit cold.” While the sleep part it true, he’s not really cold, just taking extra steps to make sure Louis doesn’t see the mark, but obviously he can’t say that to Louis.

“Awww,” Louis coos, putting his arm around Harry and pulling him in. “Want me to cuddle you while you sleep, love? Zayn has extra blankets if you’re still cold.”

_Love_. Harry gulps. He doesn’t know what’s the best choice here, not curling into Louis’ side and risking Louis wanting to chat about last night or giving in and letting his heart break a bit more. Louis has showered at least, he smells nice and clean, there’s no traces of sweat and sex, just a bit of Louis’ cologne and aftershave. It’s nice and warm. And in the end Harry doesn’t have to choose, he falls asleep listening to Louis humming a lullaby before the plane even takes off.

 

~*~*~

 

Nick shouts at him when Harry finally answers his call two weeks later. First he’s hurt that Harry’s been avoiding calls, then furious when Harry admits he’s still hooking up with Louis and haven’t told him about the mark yet. Harry lets him yell all about how irresponsible Harry is and how he’s making even bigger mess and how he’s gonna get hurt real bad if he doesn’t stop. It’s nothing he hasn’t said to himself. Nick finally shuts up when Harry tells him Louis hooked up with some girl from a bar in Oslo the night he found out about the red mark.

“Oh, love,” he sighs all the anger gone from his voice. “I’m so sorry. Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers. He’s trying to keep his voice down, afraid that someone might walk in. They’re at the venue, Louis is doing the soundcheck while Harry’s supposed to take a nap in his dressing room. He thinks they are in Austria. Or Switzerland maybe.

“Well, maybe you should stop sleeping with him then,” Nick says. “It never ends well if it’s one-sided, y’know.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry snaps and regrets it immediately. Nick didn’t mean it like that, he’s sure, but it still hurts. It’s not like he didn’t try, it’s not like he didn’t love Nick and just used him. Back then he would have sold his soul to get that mark that Nick had, still has, faded but still there, a permanent reminder that Harry wasn’t good enough.

Nick apologizes but Harry brushes it off. He’s never thought of it that way, how the past two weeks have been a slow torture, and how this might be how Nick felt. He wonders if Nick felt like his burning up from the inside too, if he wanted to cry constantly, if every Harry’s touch stung. They never really talked about it, pretended it wasn’t happening until one morning Nick just looked up from his plate of freshly baked pancakes, eyes watery and big and whispered “I can’t do this, I can’t.” They broke up and got back together twice after that, until both of them couldn’t do it and it was more than obvious that Harry’s arms will stay bare no matter how hard they try to make it.

“Was it hard?” Harry asks.

“Bloody hell,” Nick grunts. “I’m not drunk enough for this, Haz. Just… don’t do this to yourself, if Tomlinson is an idiot enough to not love you, break things off and move on. You’re a tour photographer, it’s not your job to keep his bed warm.”

Harry winces. It’s not like that, he wants to explain, it’s not like that with Louis at all. That’s the thing, if it would be just meaningless sex, just to get off, or just to have someone, he wouldn’t have that dumb mark. They don’t just sleep together, they can go days without having sex, sometimes they just kiss for hours (because _kissing is great, my favorite activity, Hazza, we should do it more_ ), sometimes they talk and play footie or _PlayStation_ , sometimes Louis plays him a new song he's working on or asks Harry to show photos of baby polar bears or lion cubs, wants Harry to tell him all about Uganda and New Zealand and Iguazu Falls in Argentina, and sometimes Harry wakes him up from the nightmares he has too often and Louis kisses his neck and murmurs quiet thank yous and clings to Harry like he’s a lifeboat, saving Louis from drowning.

“Oh, you’re up,” Louis says from where he stands in the doorway. Harry hangs up on Nick and pockets his phone without even saying goodbye, just in case Nick thinks it’s a great idea to say something loud enough for Louis to hear.

“Yeah, mum called,” he lies, because Louis is not the greatest fan of Nick’s. Apparently Nick made fun of Louis’ height once and Louis mocked Nick’s hair so they try to avoid each other. Nick still plays Louis’s songs at the Breakfast Show sometimes, Harry knows, and he’s sure Louis knows too, he’s heard Louis listening to Radio 1. Louis denies it, but Zayn says it’s probably because Nick has a Northern accent and it makes Louis miss home less or something. (Louis still denies it and throws chips at Zayn. (And still sneakily listens to Nick’s show when he can.))

Louis locks the door behind him and quickly takes off his shirt, throwing it away carelessly. He winks and wiggles his eyebrows like they’re in a bad porn or something and then giggles about it. God, Harry’s not sure if he should laugh or cry, because he thinks _Louis is so gorgeous_ and _Liam will be pissed off again_ and _is now a good time to break up_ and _can we break up if we’re not even together_ and _can the couch just swallow me_.

Louis tries to grab his sweatshirt but Harry pushes his hands away.

“‘m cold,” he lies and kisses Louis to distract him. So far he’s successfully managed to not undress in front of Louis, mostly thanks to Louis’ tour schedule. There’s almost never enough time for a full blown sex, they just wank or suck each other off in bathrooms and dressing rooms, falling asleep still fully dressed when they actually get to a hotel, too exhausted for anything.

“You’re weird,” Louis mutters between kisses, he bites down on Harry’s lip, then moves on to suck on his earlobe, breath hot and heavy. “A month ago you walked around naked if we were alone, complaining how hot it is, now you’re always cold.”

“My, ah-” Harry gasps as Louis bites his ear gently, “thermoregulation sucks.”

Louis laughs a full body laugh, murmuring about how ridiculous Harry is. He slowly kisses his way back to Harry’s mouth, still grinning when their lips meet.

“I told Alberto to keep Liam away,” he says when both of them stop to get some air. “Wanna fuck me?”

Harry agrees, all sane thoughts forgotten.

 

~*~*~

 

In the end it all falls apart. Ironically enough they’re not even having sex or sharing the bed, nobody is trying to remove Harry’s clothes or anything. He just makes a stupid mistake of getting drunk.

It’s one of their rare nights off. Before Harry’s mark appeared he didn’t care much for going out, he prefered to stay in the hotel, spend a quiet night alone (rarely, when Louis went out to do some club or restaurant promo) or with Louis (most of the time). These days he tries to avoid staying alone with Louis for too long, especially alone in a hotel room. There’s only so many times you can pretend to be cold in a nice, warm suite, and Louis is anything but dumb, it doesn’t take much to figure out what’s going on. So Harry goes out when Louis stays in and goes to bed early if Louis is late. This time Louis is out, having a dinner with important people and by the rule Harry should just lock the door and go to bed, but Niall, one of the guitarists from Louis’ band, talks him into grabbing a few drinks at the hotel’s bar.

It’s a nice bar, not too crowded, strict on only letting in the hotel guests, one of the reasons why Liam chose the hotel, Harry suspects. They get to the bar counter easily and there’s a few empty stools so they just stay there. It’s only when Niall is on his fifth pint when Harry realizes something might be wrong with him. He doesn’t know much about Niall, he’s sort of weird that way, loud and open, always joking and talking, but somehow managing to not say anything personal about him. Sure, by now Harry knows Niall’s favorite musicians and burger toppings, could recognize Niall’s soft snores if he had to, but he has no idea where Niall actually lives or what he does when he’s not touring, if he’s single or maybe he has a family and a bunch of kids. Although Harry suspects Niall could never shut up about them, would show photos of them to anyone and everyone, having silly stories about their adventures. So Harry just knows Niall is one of Louis’ closest friends and they’ve known each other for years, so Niall often hangs out with Harry and Louis, more often than not bringing Zayn and Liam with him.

“Is this an Irish thing and I should just let you drink or…?” Harry asks tentatively not sure if he and Niall are actually friends or just coworkers who share love for their boss. Sort of. Harry’s pretty sure Niall’s love for Louis doesn’t include red marks on his wrists and is platonic, although on some days he swears Niall thinks Louis is the sun and the moon and the stars together. Harry kind of agrees.

“Both,” Niall sighs, signaling to the bartender that he wants another beer. “It’s just fucked up, mate, everything’s just fucked up.”

Well. Harry surely can drink to that. He clings his bottle of beer against Niall’s glass and swallows a mouthful.

“They’re just bloody idiots,” Niall continues, his voice a bit slurred. Harry still has no idea what’s it about but he lets Niall talk. It sounds like he needs to let it out. “This is mental, all of it.”

“All of it?” Harry repeats questioningly, hoping that maybe Niall will realize he’s not making any sense.

“Love,” Niall explains sourly. “Love and marks and everything. A fucking mess.”

Harry glances at his arm, the mark hidden by the plaid shirt he’s wearing. He’s pretty sure Niall doesn’t know and is talking about someone else. So there’s no need to panic. He does drink a good half of the bottle anyway. They drink in silence for a while and Harry’s feeling a bit woozy. Niall orders them another beer and then changes it to shots of tequila and it’s a bad idea, Harry knows, but Niall clings to the bar counter as it’s his lifesource and sometimes you have to get drunk for your friends.

It’s only when they’re completely smashed and Harry can’t even find a bartender anymore, room spinning a little bit, bodies and faces around him too blurry, when Niall rolls up a sleeve of his shirt and shows it to Harry. He’s sniffing a bit but not actually crying, so it’s all good, Harry thinks. He doesn’t want Niall to cry. Sad Niall is a no.

There are two black marks on Niall’s wrist and Harry blinks, trying to figure out if he’s too drunk and everything is doubling or are there actually two lines. There’s still only one of Niall’s arms in his viewpoint, so probably two marks. That’s new. He’s never seen Niall’s arm without a wristband, didn’t ask about it, assuming that Niall wants to keep things private, so it’s quite a surprise.

Harry settles on a low whistle and “Wow, Niall. Whoa.” Somehow it makes sense in his head.  Words are a bit hard right now.

“Ought to be pretty happy, right?” Niall laughs bitterly. “But no, they’re cowards, fucking Malik and his monogamy issues.”

Harry blinks, baffled, because Niall is using too big words and everything is a bit confusing, he thought Zayn was with Liam. practically married or summat. This makes no sense.

“This no makes sense,” he mumbles and the words are totally not being his friends right now. He sort of wants to try and say it right but gives up because Niall is putting his hand away. Instead he unbuttons the tiny white button at the cuff of his shirt, fingers surprisingly steady and pulls up his own sleeve.

“We could trade,” he says. “I’ll gladly take a black mark.”

Niall stares at his arm for so long that Harry thinks it’s a bit rude. It’s not like having two black marks at the same time is weirder than a red one. Plenty of people have red marks. There’s nothing wrong with it. Well, there’s also nothing wrong with two black marks, Harry thinks. Maybe he should tell Niall that in case Niall doesn’t know. It’s okay to love two people. Especially if they love you back, that’s actually lovely. A lot better than Harry’s situation with Louis.

Louis who is standing right behind them and saying, “Lads, lads, are you drinking without me?”

He’s trying to squeeze between Niall and Harry, waving a hand at the bartender.

“I need a bathroom,” Niall says and gets up. Surprisingly he’s quite steady, must be the Irish genes, Harry thinks. He’s pretty sure he would fall face down if he got up right now. He doesn’t want to get up though. Louis is here. Lovely, lovely Louis.

“Not drinking, comparing marks, see,” Harry babbles, waving his arm where Louis face is. “You should show us yours.” Harry has never seen Louis’ marks. He knows there’s a scar, everyone knows that, _Daily Mail_ makes sure to remind it everytime Louis does as little as breathes in a public event. They’re probably still disappointed Louis didn’t the whole drinking and partying and doing drugs thing, didn’t take the depression route or anything scandalous after his girlfriend died. Harry looks up.

Louis is all wide eyed and silent, staring at Harry’s arm just like Niall did. Harry looks at it too in case there’s something else on it besides the lonely red mark.

“Don’t worry, Lou,” he leans in to whisper, “it’s a secret. I’m totally not telling anyone.”

“Harry, what-” Louis grabs his arm and he looks sad, pulling it closer and looking at the red mark. Disappointed probably. Everyone is always disappointed. Because Harry fucks things up. It’s his thing. He promised Louis he won’t fall in love, and he let Louis down.

“It’s nothing, I promise,” he says, getting his arm out of Louis’ hold and rolling down the shirt. “I totally did not want to fall in love with you,” he wants to explain. It’s not his fault Louis is so amazing and loveable, drawing Harry in like a magnet, he really couldn’t help. But he will fix it so Louis stops looking at him like that., like Harry failed him. Sad Louis is way worse than sad Niall.

“It will probably fade soon,” he adds, just to reassure Louis. Harry thinks it won’t, there’s really no way how he can not love Louis, not now, not anytime soon, probably never, but Louis doesn’t have to know that. Harry’s good at keeping secrets.

“Right,” Louis whispers and Harry almost doesn’t hear him, thankfully a song ends right before Louis speaks up. He still looks sad, eyes huge like in _Disney_ movies. They watched one of those together yesterday, it was nice, they had tea and chocolate cookies. Harry pats Louis’ arm, as to say _there, there, it will be okay_. He’s a bit tired from all the talking and feeling, it’s exhausting to be this sad and worried all the time, thinking about Louis kissing other people or taking them to bed. It’s a bit shit, maybe a lot shit.

“You can totally kiss all the girls,” he tells Louis. Just in case he was worried about Harry’s feelings. He doesn’t have to be worried, Harry does enough of that. He’s suddenly so sleepy and weary, wants nothing but to fall asleep, but the counter is a bit sticky from spilled tequila so he probably should get up and find his room.

Louis still doesn’t say anything or maybe he does but the bar is too loud to hear. There’s a low beat of bass thumping against Harry’s temples, making his head ache. Louis does help Harry to get up though when Harry tells Louis that he wants his pillows and blankets, and next thing Harry knows Alberto is there, practically carrying him out of the bar, Louis following right behind them. That will do, Harry thinks, that will do.

 

~*~*~

 

It takes some time for Harry to wake up properly and realize that the shouting and shaking comes from Liam who’s trying to wake him up. His head hurts like something else and Liam is way too loud. Harry blinks and sits up. At least he’s not sick. Little things, right? Liam hands him a glass of water and some painkillers without a word and Harry drinks up. Drinking. Right. That’s what he did last night.

He can’t really remember anything though, probably got wasted with Niall. Niall and his two black marks. He remembers that part. Now when he’s not full with booze it finally hits him that Niall is in love with two people at once, and Zayn has to do something with it. Harry grunts from the sharp pain in his neck when looks up too fast to glance at Liam’s arm. He can’t  see anything though, Liam’s wearing a jacket.

“What time is it?” he asks because Liam waking him up must mean he’s late. They still have a few shows left until the tour ends, so Harry needs to take more photos. It’s bright outside though, so not a showtime yet.

“Harry,” Liam says, and he’s all serious. “What did you do?”

Harry frowns. “Got drunk?” He knows it’s not a good thing to do, and Liam always tells the story of his magical liver and how bad alcohol is, but Harry has seen Liam get wasted too. He’s also sure he had no plans or work scheduled for the morning so it can’t be that.

“No, not that,” Liam explains nervously, “what happened with Louis?”

“What happened with Louis?” Harry asks, he can feel his heart picking up a beat. Is he hurt? Did Harry do some… Oh god. Harry looks down at himself alarmed, but his arm is still covered by yesterday’s shirt. So it can’t be that. Can it? Jesus, now he might actually vomit. Why is he always sick when these things happen, why can’t he just faint or have some nerves?

“I don’t know?” he squeaks when Liam keeps staring, waiting for an answer.

“Well then why does he wants me to fire you?” Liam demands.

Louis wants _what_? Harry’s feeling ill, he can feel his arms starting to tremble, and his heart trying to get out of his chest, beating so fast it might actually succeed. He can’t manage a single word to say, because he can’t understand what’s happening. Louis wants him fired for what?

“He’s seriously upset,” Liam explains, biting his lip. “He refuses to explain, just says he wants you gone?” _Ouch_. “Niall says he talked to you last night, at the bar?”

And there it goes, Harry stumbles to the bathroom and pukes, head spinning, eyes watery. Liam is still there, rubbing his back through it and handing him a glass of water, flushing the toilet while Harry sits up, leaning against the bathtub. He doesn’t remember talking to Louis, but he does remember showing Niall his arm, and Louis showing up later, he knows what it means.

He just… he never thought Louis will take it like that. He didn’t think Louis will react that badly, he knows he’s fucked up, but he can handle it. He can distance himself, he’s not gonna go and try to woo Louis or anything against his will. Fuck, oh god, what if Louis thinks Harry’s using him? Can he vomit again if there’s nothing in his stomach?

Harry hides his face in his palms and sighs.

“I might have a red mark that I showed him last night,” he tells Liam, who’s now sitting down on a toilet opposite to Harry. Liam looks like he’s glad he’s not standing up.

“You’re in love with him?”

Harry nods.

“Then why is he acting all crazy?”

“What do you mean why? I fucked up, it’s not… we’re not…” Harry’s struggling for words, “we’re not together, it’s just sex, he’s not into me.”

Liam gapes. “What? Of course he is!”

Harry snorts bitterly. “He’s not. He’s hooking up with other people.” When Liam quirks an eyebrow, he adds, “Stan told me that.”

“That’s bullshit! He haven’t slept with anyone but you ever since Peyton died,” Liam snaps, getting up and marching closer to Harry. “Hell, he told me he really likes you less than two days ago!”

Harry stares, then almost laughs. Is this some kind of a joke?

“Sure, and now he wants me fired,” Harry deadpans, “because he likes me.”

Liam shakes his head in disbelief. “No, of course not, he’s just… scared. I can’t… it’s not my place to tell you things, I swore to him I won’t, but you have to talk to him,” Liam kneels down in front of Harry, squeezes Harry’s knees reassuringly. “Peyton’s death was a lot. He’s probably just panicking. Talk to him, please?”

Nobody can resist Liam’s puppy eyes and he bloody knows that. 

 

~*~*~

 

“Get out,” Louis snarls as soon as Harry enters his room. He’s sitting on a couch, laptop next to him, earphones on, smoking a cigarette, something he only does when he’s nervous. He takes the earphones off when he sees Harry’s not going anywhere, but doesn’t get up.

“I’m sorry,” Harry starts, walking towards Louis. He doesn’t know what to say, but it seems like a good start. “I should have told you.”

“I don’t care,” Louis exhales hard and puts the cigarette out. “We’re done. Pack your bags and go home.”

Louis is visibly angry, jaw clenched and arms crossed over his chest, and Harry has no idea if it’s because of him or because of what Liam said, but he thinks Louis is being a bit unfair. He might be in love with Louis but he doesn’t deserve to be fired, especially after Ben practically begged him to come home from Uganda and cover Cal’s ass. Louis and his tourbook needs Harry’s photos.

“You can’t just fire me because I love you,” he says, voice breaking on a second part of the sentence.

Louis looks up, rolling his eyes. “Do you now? Well, news flash, I don’t love you.”

Harry sucks in a breath, it’s not like he didn’t know that, but it still hurts to actually hear Louis say those words. “Liam said you like me,” he says quietly, unsure, then winces because he shouldn’t have said that, he doesn’t want Louis to be angry with Liam too.

“Liam is even more naive than you are, you can both make a club for your teenage romance fantasies,” Louis answers, his voice full with anger. He gets up and stands in front of Harry, eyes flashing. “Unless you’re colorblind, I’m sure you can tell your fucking mark is red, not black. I don’t love you, I never will love you, and I want you gone in ten minutes before security throws you out.”

Harry stares numbly, all the color from his face gone, as Louis leaves the room, slamming the door.

 

**II**

 

Harry spends first two weeks sleeping and crying, sometimes he gets up from Nick’s bed to find some ice cream because it seems properly dramatic, ice cream and tears and warm blankets, a few times he takes a bath after Nick refuses to sleep next to him. He stays in there until the water goes cold and Nick has to drag him out. Twice he calls his mum, crying himself and making her cry, so he doesn’t try that again. He signs a contract that _Sony_ sends him about finishing the tour sooner and agrees to send them remaining of the photos within a week. He finds out that Liam’s no longer Louis’ tour manager and cries again. He had no idea someone can cry that much but he still sobs when Nick brings _Daily Mail_ home and there’s an article about Louis finishing the tour in London’s O2 stadium and photos with crew at their after party.

The next two weeks he tries to get himself together, he still feels crap and eats too much vanilla soy ice cream, but he takes Pig for walks and replies to e-mails he has ignored, politely declining all the wildlife workshops that he’s invited to. He showers almost every day and cries only sometimes. Well, a lot of sometimes, but less than before. Pig is his bestie when Nick’s at work, always happy to cuddle with him and licking Harry’s tears away when a song on a radio hits too close to heart. And when Nick’s home they watch _Food Network_ and bad reality shows, drink wine and eat pizza. Nick complains he’ll get fat because of Harry, but still brings back a new box of frozen pizza everytime he goes to _Waitrose_.

They don’t really talk about Louis, Harry had cried on Nick’s shoulder that first afternoon after getting his wristband, but he made clear he doesn’t want to talk anymore the next morning. Nick always switches a channel if news about Louis come on, and he tries not to bring home any press with Louis’s name in it unless he really has to because of work (and even then he usually hides it after that _Daily Mail_ incident) and overall it’s almost nice. Except Harry knows Nick is worried about him, he can feel Nick’s concerned looks and he knows Nick is cancelling all his plans to spend evenings with Harry even when Harry tells him not to.

It’s another Friday and they’re sitting on a couch again, watching  _Guy’s Big Bite_ , and Nick’s practically buzzing with anxiousness, Harry can feel him drumming his fingers against the sofa,  and even Pig is curled up next to Harry’s legs instead, as to avoid her crazy owner.

When Nick glances at Harry for the hundredth time, Harry mutes the TV and turns to Nick.

“What is it?”

“I interviewed Louis today,” Nick practically sags in relief. “I didn’t want to tell you, but you might find out and I don’t know, I just… I thought you should know.”

Harry stares. He didn’t know, of course, he usually sleeps in until midday, long after Nick’s radio show is over. Nick sometimes teases him about not being a supportive friend, but Harry makes up for it, letting Nick chat about the show’s highlights when they eat lunch.

“I didn’t want to,” Nick explains, biting his lip and looking down, “but the bosses insisted, since he’s up for all these awards and is good for our ratings, and I’ve already been diva enough this month.”

“Jesus, it’s fine, Grim,” Harry exhales. “It’s your job.”

He’s stroking fingers over the wristband, a new habit he has every time he thinks about Louis. Which is almost always. Because Harry’s pathetic like that.

They sit in the silence for a while until Harry can’t help but ask: “How was it?”

Nick snorts. “Weird? A bit awkward? I think we both had to promise not to bicker or summat to our minders.”

Harry shakes his head. That sounds believable.

“I sort of had this plan to maybe tell him he’s a proper dick,” Nick continues and Harry’s heart starts beating faster. God, he hopes Nick didn’t say anything, Harry’s embarrassed enough to last a lifetime, he doesn’t need Louis laughing about his pathetic crush any more.

“Don’t worry,” Nick reassures, “he looked so shit I didn’t had it in me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was all pale and poorly, so quiet I had to turn his mic up two times. I don’t know, maybe he’s got a cold or something. I’m sure  _Twitter’s_ already onto that, ten theories of why Louis Tomlinson looks like he’s on death row.”

Harry hums. He supposes he should feel some kind of satisfaction that he’s not the only one feeling sick, but he doesn’t have that mean streak in him. Mostly he just wants to forget Louis and everything about him. He’s so tired all the time, it’s like there’s this void inside him that sucks out all of his energy, leaving only regret and misery behind.

“Oh, and he had Liam with him, I thought you might want to know that.”

That makes Harry smile. He knows Louis loves Liam like his own family, and Harry hated himself for ruining that. Somewhere deep inside he had a hope that Louis will change his mind, he kept his friends close and protected them as his own blood, Harry couldn’t imagine Louis turning on Liam or actually hating him. It wasn’t Liam’s fault that Harry made a mess anyway.

He unmutes the TV and they don’t talk about Louis anymore. 

 

~*~*~

 

It takes another two weeks for Harry to move from Nick’s bed to Nick’s couch. It takes Daisy’s raised up eyebrows at their sleeping arrangement for that to happen, but Harry sleeps on the couch now and vows to find himself a place. He sucks at figuring out London’s real estate so he makes a deal with Nick: Harry cooks them dinner while Nick browses the renting sites. Nick writes down e-mails and phone numbers and makes calls, and goes with Harry to see the places. So far they haven’t found anything Harry actually likes, but at least they have figured out what Harry doesn’t like.

He’s in the kitchen, adding oregano to a pot of veggie chilli when Nick calls for him to come over. Nick’s sitting at the dining table, glasses on, surrounded by notes about possible flats and their owners, so Harry expects him to show another flat, asking for his approval of it.

What he finds instead is Nick staring at  _The Mirror’s_ website. He’s staring at an article about Louis.

EXCLUSIVE: THE TRAGIC PAST OF LOUIS TOMLINSON, it says all in uppercase, and right next to it is a big and blurry photo of what Harry guesses is Louis’ bare arm. Three scars and a black mark inside his wrist, where the love marks usually are. There’s another photo, it looks like Louis is in a hospital or a clinic, and there’s a nurse cleaning his arm. It makes it obvious that the close up is from the same photo, so it really is Louis’ arm and Louis’ marks.

Harry can’t stop staring. That’s three scars on Louis’ wrist. _Three_. If his heart wasn’t already shattered to pieces from Louis’ rejection, it is now. He can’t understand how this is possible. What Louis has been through? His throat is closing up, eyes filling with tears. Jesus Christ, he knew about Peyton, but that’s one, one scar. And Louis has three.

He sits down next to Nick and holds a hand over his mouth. He’s shellshocked and speechless, and sort of wants to run to wherever Louis is and hug him close and never let go. Whatever he thought has happened to Louis, a row of horrible tragedies wasn’t in his mind. It’s not uncommon to hear about deaths of loved ones, but usually they are stories that make Harry’s heart ache in want, stories of growing old together, having a whole life hand in hand, soulmates dying on the same day, stories where death is just another step to take side by side. He can’t imagine the pain Louis had gone through, having to bury three people he’s loved so much.

“That’s so horrible,” he finally whispers, wiping tears away from his cheeks.

“Haz,” Nick says, snapping his fingers as to wake Harry up. “He has a black mark.”

And oh. Oh yeah. Nick’s right. There’s a bold, black line right above the three scars.

Louis is in love.

Harry chokes on his own tears. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and takes a deep breath. He knows Louis doesn’t love him, that’s nothing new. It’s none of his business who Louis does love, right? It still hurts so much though. He whimpers, tries to swallow it all and not cry again.

“Are you mental, Harry? Bloody hell,” Nick gets up. “Don’t you get it? Come on, get up.”

Harry goes, only because he still has no control over his body or mind, lets Nick pull him all the way to the bathroom. It’s only when Nick finds a balm for wristband removal Harry realizes what he’s up to. He tries to protest but Nick pours the balm on Harry’s wrist, rubs it in until the material gets loose.

By the time Nick slides the wristband off Harry’s shaking. He knows Nick is wrong, he knows, because Louis said so himself. He knows it’s not Harry that Louis loves.

The mark on his arm is black as night.

 

~*~*~

 

Harry keeps staring at his mark, he can’t help it. It’s been two days and he still expects it to suddenly disappear. The internet is eating Louis’ story alive, _Daily Mail_ is throwing out one article after another, “close friend says” and “our sources think” rubbish with theories about who’s behind scars and more importantly, the black mark. Something Louis related has been trending on _Twitter_ ever since the first article and Harry has to hide his phone away to not go crazy.

Nick’s furious with Harry, he’s staying at Daisy’s place for another night, so Harry’s alone. Nick’s angry enough that he’s taken Pig with him.

It’s just that this feels even worse. So Louis does love Harry, that’s great, that’s so amazing that Harry should be the happiest he’s ever been, open a bottle of champagne and throw a party, but Louis also knows he has a black mark of his own, he didn’t have a wristband when the photos from  _The Mirror_ were taken, so he must know. And if Louis knows then why doesn’t he call? Why doesn’t  _he_ do anything about it? Why doesn’t he want anything from Harry? What if Louis saw that mark and was disappointed? What if Louis doesn’t want to love Harry?

It’s just so unfair and Harry wants to be upset and mad at Louis but he keeps thinking of the three scars and three soulmate deaths and he can’t make himself angry no matter how hard he tries. So he drinks tea, stares at his hand and goes through his favourite workshop websites trying to find someone who’s hosting a photography workshop in Canada. He wants to go and take photos of polar bears and snowy owls and arctic foxes, go back to wildlife photography. He knows he’s running but he can’t stay in London where it seems like everything revolves around Louis, his name, face or songs everywhere Harry goes. It’s like taking one step forward to get over it and then stumbling two back a minute later.

It’s so weirdly quiet in Nick’s flat that Harry grabs a remote from the coffee table and turns the TV on. He’s sort of done with sitting on the couch, crying and watching TV part of his life so he just quickly goes through channels trying to find something for a background noise.

“-and I didn’t want people to feel sorry,” Louis says when Harry lands on NBC. He’s on Ellen DeGeneres Show, doing an interview. He’s sitting opposite to Ellen on a white armchair, dressed all black, hair styled back, and Harry guesses that’s supposed to give Louis a sharp, strong look but he looks small and nervous, fingers wrapped together in his lap, knuckles white. His marks are hidden under the sleeves of his jacket.

Louis is talking about how he left X-Factor live shows before finale and broke the contract because he didn’t want to tell anyone about his marks, afraid that they will use it as a part of his image, he has always wanted to sell the music and not the sad sob story. He still wants to do that and he hopes that people will buy his album because they like songs and not because they feel sorry for him.

Ellen asks him a few more questions, if he knew someone took the photo (no), if anyone at Zayn’s label knew about his marks (yes) and is Louis worried people will try to pry and find out who his past soulmates where (Louis talks about how it’s not that hard to find, but he would like to save their families some pain and hopefully people will leave them alone), and they talk a little bit about the new album and tour and how it went. It’s not that Harry expects Louis to be jolly about scars on his arm and his heart, but it’s weird to see Louis so small and serious, the closeups of him talking show dark circles, not fully masked with the makeup, and sad eyes, he’s talking slowly, voice low, carefully choosing his words.

Harry knows, even without the mark on his arm, that he’s still so in love with Louis it’s ridiculous. He hates whoever took the photo and made Louis go through this mess, he hates that Louis has to put on a brave face and talk about it, it’s not anyone’s business and it’s horrible to witness. He wants to wrap Louis in blankets and make him tea and watch  _Lion King_ with him, pretend that the hotel room is a cinema and they don’t have to hop on another plane in a few hours.

“So the black mark?” Ellen prompts and Louis isn’t quick enough to mask a flinch on his face. Harry doesn’t know how these things work, but he assumes someone approved the questions asked and Louis expected it, just doesn’t really want to talk about it. Harry doesn’t want Louis to talk about it. He takes a pillow from the couch and wraps his hands around it, needing to hold on to something.

“That was a surprise,” Louis says with a small, sad smile and Harry wants to scream.

“Can I ask, who’s the lucky person?” Ellen asks, and Harry grimaced at her word choice. So does Louis.

“Well...” he starts, “there’s none?”

Louis’ voice breaks, and the audience does the sad “awwww” thing, even Ellen looks taken aback, and Harry launches for the remote and turns the TV off before she asks anything else. Fucking Louis. He doesn’t get to do that! He doesn’t get to be all upset, it takes two people to fall in love, and he doesn’t get to play the sad victim when he was the one who told Harry to get lost.

Harry doesn’t cry, just stays on the couch, hugging the pillow and breathing. He gets up later, fixes dinner and sends in an application for a polar bear photography event.

Nick comes home the next day and doesn’t ask anything about Louis. He brings Daisy’s chocolate cookies with him as apology, and Pig’s overjoyed to go for a run with Harry. All is well.

 

~*~*~

 

Liam calls the next day. Harry contemplates not answering but he’s been wanting to apologize to Liam for ages, and he wants to make it right before he leaves for Canada. He still has four days to pack and buy tickets and he wants to go to Cheshire and visit his mum before he leaves. He sort of has accepted that the heartbreak is a permanent part of him by now and that he might never be as happy as he was during the tour, but he knows that sitting and crying and eating ice cream won’t do him any good, and well, he’s been through enough breakups and pain, what’s one more.

Liam brushes off the apology, says that it’s all okay, but if Harry wants to make up for it, Liam has a favor to ask. They’re doing a photoshoot for  _Sony_ and there are issues with photographer and maybe Harry can come in and help?

“I know the posed photography is not your thing, mate,” Liam says, “but we’re desperate. We need those photos by tomorrow and I don’t know who else to call.”

“It’s not Louis, right?” Harry asks just to be sure. He doesn’t think Liam would ask that, or more importantly Louis would sign up for it, but he has to ask.

“No, of course not,” Liam denies, “please, Harry? We’ll pay you generously.”

Harry agrees and Liam sends him the address and tells that the studio has all the equipment but Harry can bring his own camera if he wants. He calls the taxi, takes the camera bag and leaves a quick note for Nick on the fridge, pets Pig as a goodbye and goes. He really does hate photoshoots and how fake they are, people posing for better angles and  taking staged photos. Harry loves the spontaneity of a moment, catching movement and true emotions. Animals never try to show their “best side” or make a fake smile for his camera.But he’s done it in the past to help Cal so whatever, he can do it. And use the money to buy a new camera bag, the existing one is looking all rugged and about to fall apart.

The studio is unexpectedly small with only a few people in it, two girls working on lights and equipment, a makeup artist packing up her stuff and a stylist who’s also putting things back on hangers. Someone’s sitting at a computer, probably waiting for the photos to choose from. Liam exists from a small room next to the studio and walks over, he hugs Harry and it’s unexpected, but nice.

“So, who am I taking photos of?” Harry asks, putting down his coat on a free chair and making sure his hair are still in a  tight bun despite the windy day outside.

Liam opens his mouth, then closes it because at that moment Louis comes out of the small room. He’s all dressed up, styled to a point, and obviously ready for a shoot, dark skinny jeans, soft gray shirt with rolled up sleeves, marks on display. He’s looking back at Zayn who’s following him, but asking Liam, if the photographer is finally there. And Harry just stares. It’s real, the scars and the black mark, they’re on Louis’ arm where the wristband always was. Louis is real, right there, maybe twenty steps away from Harry and he just… he just wants Louis, okay. It hurts and he just wants Louis. His hands are shaking and the mark, the mark on his arm actually hurts, a small sharp pain like someone cut it open.

Everything is still for a moment, Louis staring at Harry, at Harry’s arm, Harry frozen in place, until the guy sitting at the computer asks cheerily: “So, let’s make a shoot? Are you guys ready?”

Harry is not ready. He’s struggling to stay up, he can’t believe Liam tricked him into this. Does he really expect Harry to just say “yeah, sure!” and go with it? What kind of a sick joke is this?

Louis is beats him to it.

“No, I’m not doing this. Zayn, what the fuck,” he asks, voice rising, turning to go back in the room he appeared from.

Harry turns around to grab his coat and leave. He can’t stay there and look at Louis and not have him. His arm hurts like it’s burning now and he wants to run away as fast as possible. Niall stops him before he can do anything, stands between Harry and the chair where his coat and camera bag is.

“Harry, please, he’s scared shitless,” Niall begs, “please just stay and help him. He already made two photographers leave and we need the photos. Zayn will calm him down, just please help him.”

And okay, that’s enough.

“Why?” Harry asks, voice razor sharp. “Why should I help? He doesn’t want anything to do with me!”

And maybe Harry says that last part too loud because Louis is out of his dressing room in a second.

“You’re the one to talk!” he spits at Harry, eyes flashing with anger. “You told me you don’t want to love me, you told me you don’t care, you told me I can go and fuck whoever I want! Kiss all the girls, Louis, the mark will fade soon, Louis!”

What? Harry blinks. “What are you talking about?”

Louis rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed. “You forgot already?”

“I don’t-” Harry starts, but he doesn’t know what to say. He never said that, he would never say that.

“Yeah, I know you  _don’t_ ,” Louis exhales, turns around and walks back in his dressing room. Niall follows him, and it’s only when he says “come on, Louis, we were both pissed” that Harry realizes he’s talking about that night in the bar when Louis found out. Harry never tried to figure out what exactly he told Louis, he just assumed he drunkenly confessed his love or summat. God, did he really say all those things? He’s feeling dizzy, short of breath.

“I was drunk and scared,” he says, following Niall to the dressing room. Louis is standing in there, leaning against the wall, looking like a wild animal, cornered and ready to lash out. Harry stops ten steps away from him, afraid  to go closer. “What the fuck, Louis, you can’t hold that against me! You told me it’s casual, you told me you don’t date and don’t want anything serious! What did you expect? What was I supposed to do? I was gone for you and you were out, partying with Stan and Oli, and all those girls, how was I supposed to tell you I fucked up and fell in love?”

For a moment there it looks like Louis is gonna take a step forward, but then he stops.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, voice cold and calm. “You can leave.”

Harry’s so done with this bullshit he wants to scream. He takes a small step forward. He’s not leaving.

“You can’t just send me away whenever you feel like it, you can’t avoid this forever, for fucks sake,” he can feel the anger rushing through him, boiling in his veins. “I was drunk and you know that, whatever I said, I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry, but that mark is still on my hand months later. I love you, Louis, I love you and you know it, you can’t put this on me!”

“Stop, just shut up,” Louis voice comes out small, he’s still standing still, hands clenched in fists as if he’s about to throw a punch. And good, at least Harry has finally gotten some kind of reaction out of him.

“And that’s it?” Harry asks, voice strangled. “I tell you I love you, and that’s all you have to say?”

Louis sucks in a breath and stands taller, takes a step to right where the door is, clearly done with the conversation. Harry moves too, stops in front of Louis. They’re not done. Louis is shaking, taking a step back again, pressing his back to a wall. He looks at Harry and Harry’s not looking away, holding the eye contact and waiting. And then Harry can see the moment when Louis breaks, exhales shakily, blinks as his eyes fill with tears as he looks down at his arms.

“Please, Haz,” he asks, fighting the sobs, “please, just leave.”

“No,” Harry stays stubbornly, even though his own voice breaks. He’s not going until Louis tells him what’s going on, why is he pushing Harry away when both of them are in love.

Louis looks up and his cheeks are stained wet with tears, his shoulders are shaking and he’s breathing shakily. Instinctively Harry tries to reach out and hold him, but Louis flinches, so Harry pulls back. It stings a bit.

“Please,” Louis cries, “I can’t do this, I can’t be with you and then watch you die... I don’t want you to die,” he’s crying, taking shallow breaths between words, trying to swallow tears, “everyone dies, Haz. Everyone. I. Love. Dies.”

“Louis, I-”

 “I love you,” Louis is hiccuping, finally looking right into Harry’s eyes, “I love you so much... but everyone... I love dies... and if anything happens to you... I won’t survive, I can’t… I just can’t do this anymore,” he’s crying openly, sobbing, and it takes Harry just one more step and Louis falls against him, hands grasping at Harry’s shirt, he’s shaking hard, crying against Harry’s chest.

They both are crying, Harry finds the wall with one arm and leans against it, helps them sit down on the floor, Louis in his lap, pressed against him and sobbing, murmuring a quiet litany of _just please don’t die,  please don’t die_.

“Shh, Lou, shh, it’s okay,” Harry whispers, voice scratchy. He feels a bit dumb, like he never put two and two together, Louis not wanting relationship and Louis having three scars, it’s so obvious now. Harry wanted to fall in love with his soulmate so badly, to have that mark of approval and the happily ever after, he never realized how it must be for Louis, how destiny failed him not once, not twice, but three times. 

“Listen to me, Lou,” Harry talks, holding Louis close, arms wrapped around him, slowly rocking back and forth. “I love you and I’m not dying. I can’t promise you I never will, but I’d better be happy with you for a day than unhappy without you for the rest of my life.”

He’s snotty and his eyes are red and wet from crying, but he has the solid weight of Louis in his arms, and he knows every word he’s saying is true. He spent so much time falling for the wrong people, chasing something that was never meant to be, he’s not wasting a day without Louis if he has a say in it.

“I’m so tired,” Louis exhales slowly against Harry’s chest, his voice still teary and apologetic, “I just miss you so much.”

He takes Harry’s right arm, pulls it away from where it’s wrapped around him, places it in his lap. His fingers are holding Harry’s wrist, thumb tracing the black mark. Harry realizes it has stopped hurting.

“I miss you too,” Harry whispers in Louis’ hair. They’re both still breathing hard, sniffling, but it feels like all the anger has left the room, replaced with a tiny hope instead. “I’m sorry I said whatever I said when I was drunk. I didn’t mean it.”

Louis shakes his head, still holding Harry’s hand. “No, it’s fine, you don’t have to apologize, I’m the one who sent you away. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Harry gently pulls his arm free from Louis’ hold and entwines their fingers. There’s so much to say and he doesn’t know where to start.

“It’s okay, Lou, we’re gonna be okay.”

Louis exhales and squeezes Harry’s hand. “I want to be with you. Properly. I want to be your boyfriend if you let me.”

Harry laughs, surprising himself. It’s just, that sounds so silly, as if Harry could ever not let Louis have anything he wants. “I thought we already established we can’t function without each other?”

Louis snorts and looks up. He looks horrible, eyes bloody and red, face patchy and snotty from all the waterworks, and he’s still the most gorgeous man Harry has ever seen. He leans down and kisses him gently, a light pressure against Louis’ lips. When he pulls away Louis is smiling, soft and fond.

“Yeah,” he says and kisses Harry.

 

~*~*~

 

Harry has no idea how much time has passed, they kiss and kiss and kiss, and keep whispering _i love you’s_ in each other mouths and Harry never wants to get up and let go of Louis. It’s Zayn who breaks the blissful high.

“Um,” he says from somewhere above, standing next to Harry’s legs. “Not that I’m not happy for you guys, but we still need those photos?”

So they get up. Louis gets a lecture from the poor makeup artist who has to redo his face, and his clothes are a bit ruffled too, but he keeps grinning, oblivious to everything. They make it simple, Liam explains the photos are for  _People_ magazine who will interview Louis tomorrow, and that they don’t need anything fancy, just some effortless, good quality photos. They put a barstool against a plain, white background and Louis sits down.

Harry knows he wants to do something silly, make faces or stand on his hands, it’s written all over Louis’ face, but they’ve been keeping people in the studio for far too long already, so Louis listens to everything Harry makes him do and they wrap it up in fifteen minutes.

They choose the best photos together, not only Harry and Louis, but Zayn, Liam and Niall too. Harry grins when he notices that Zayn’s hand is in the back pocket of Niall’s jeans while he’s leaning against Liam. They must have figured that one out then. Niall keeps poking Louis and saying how happy he is, and Liam high fives Harry twice, it’s all a bit bizarre. Harry feels like he could burst from happiness.

When they’re done with photos Louis pulls Harry away, back to the white background and bright lights. He fishes out his phone from a pocket and opens up  _Instagram_ . He places both of their hands next to each other, fingers still half intertwined, wrists turned so the scars and the marks are visible, and takes a photo.

“Don’t laugh, love,” he says when Harry giggles. “Promised Ellen I’ll let her know how it goes.”

He posts the photo with a simple caption:  _take my hand and lead me home_ , and a row of colorful heart emojis. He’s blushing adorably while doing that. Harry laughs.

“Now,” he pulls Louis in, their marked hands still wrapped together, “kiss me, you fool!”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic went through fire and water, during the writing process I injured my hand twice, got sick three times, lost 30k of words due to technical issues (yeah, backups, what are they) and had to write it all over again in the shortest time ever, but it was also really fun to write and I really loved the prompt, so I hope you enjoyed it too! :)


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